Almost Paradise
by fangirlu
Summary: In the aftermath of Allison's brain-jacking, Jack spends two weeks helping her find herself again. Inter-related one-shots set between "Omega Girls" and "Of Mites and Men."
1. Day 1:  Starting Over

**Disclaimer: **Eureka isn't mine, but I'd be more than willing to take Jack off Allison's hands if she ever gets tired of him.

**A/N: **I often wondered what happened between Allison and Jack during the two-week period following "Omega Girls" that was hinted at in the beginning of "Of Mites and Men." This is my attempt to satisfy my curiosity and fully explore what I think was an important step in their relationship.

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><p><strong>Day 1: Starting Over<strong>

It had been years since Allison had allowed herself to cry.

And it been much longer than that since she'd let anyone see her in such a weak, private moment. But on this quiet, rainy afternoon, cocooned in the safety of Jack's strong embrace, she gave herself permission to let go. With her body tucked firmly between his side and the cushions of his plush white sofa, she sobbed against the wide plane of his chest. For what felt like an eternity, she poured out her rage, her pain, and her dark, frightening desire for revenge in a torrent of hot, salty tears.

"I'm sorry," she hiccupped once she finally had her runaway emotions under some semblance of control. Embarrassed by her uncharacteristic show of vulnerability, she brushed anxiously at the large wet spot that marred the soft, snowy fabric of his t-shirt.

Jack gently grabbed her hand and laid it flat against his chest. "Please don't apologize, Ally. Not for this." Reaching out a hand, he ran his thumb across her cheek, gathering the warm moisture that was still clinging stubbornly to her skin.

She didn't respond, but instead wrapped her arm around his lean waist and held on tight.

"I'm going to miss the kids," she said after a while, sighing with weary pleasure as his hand stroked soothingly up and down the length of her bare arm.

"Me too, but it's probably best that they stay with your mom for a while." He gave her a reassuring squeeze. "For now, you need to concentrate on getting your strength back."

_Mentally as well as physically. _

Even though he hadn't said the words aloud, they had dangled from the end of his sentence like a worm from a hook.

"I know."

Balling her hands into fists, she clenched her jaw so tightly that it began to ache. She wanted to say more, but really…what good would it do? She knew Jack was right, and although nothing she said would change that fact, it still made her see red. After everything that had happened to her, after losing the very essence of who she was to Beverly Barlowe, the thought of being separated from her kids—even temporarily—made her want to scream.

As if he could sense her growing agitation, Jack pressed a kiss to the top of her head and hugged her closer. "We'll holo-Skype everyday, okay?"

Allison nodded sadly. It wouldn't be the same as having them here with her, but it would have to do.

"Jack, can I ask you something?" she asked quietly after a long moment, her eyes fixed sightlessly on the shimmying flames dancing in the fireplace.

"Always."

"How did you know that something was wrong? How did you know that I wasn't really…_me?_"

"Ally, you just got your brain back yesterday." She could feel the sudden tension in every line of his body as he shifted uncomfortably beside her. It was patently obvious that this was something that he didn't want to discuss with her. "We don't have to talk about this right now."

"Yes. We do." Frowning, she sat up and looked down at him, trying not to glare and failing miserably. "Jack, for weeks, I had another person living inside my head, directing my actions, stealing my fucking _life._ I think I deserve to know what the hell happened while my body was being violated by that power hungry nut job!"

Jack's eyes were wide as he stared back up at her. It wasn't hard to tell that he was startled by the ferocity of her response.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she put a hand on his cheek and said softly, "Honey, I know that watching what happened to me must have been hard for you, but I have to know…I _need_ to know."

"Okay," he replied just as softly, and she could clearly hear the reluctance in his voice. She knew that he didn't want to do this, but he was going to. For her. "Come here."

Allison let him pull her down on top of him. Tangling their jean-clad legs together, he propped his chin against the top of her head and ran his hands up and down her back. Over and over again, slowly, almost lazily, he skimmed his palms along the length of her spine, and though it was extremely calming, she had the feeling it was more for his benefit than hers.

They'd avoided talking about the situation at length yesterday, but her desire to know exactly what had transpired during her blackout was much stronger than her desire to bury her head in the sand and pretend that the whole thing had never happened.

Just when she thought he was trying to lull her to sleep so he could put off answering her question, he asked quietly, "How much do you remember?"

"Not much," she answered truthfully. "There were flashes of consciousness—short intervals of time when I was aware of what was going on, but other than that…nothing. It was like being trapped in a dark room with no windows or doors." She shuddered at the memory. "It was horrible."

Jack's arms tensed around her. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I'm positive."

If she didn't do it now, it was quite possible that she never would.

She could feel Jack's subdued nod. After another long pause, he blew out a long breath and said, "There wasn't any one thing that made me realize that something was wrong."

"Go on," she prodded when he remained silent for so long that she thought he'd changed his mind.

"There were too many little inconsistencies that made all sorts of red flags go off in my head." He lifted a hand and waggled it back and forth in the air. "You were losing time, suffering from headaches and forgetting the simplest things. You were also avoiding spending time with me, and when we _were_ together, you didn't allow much physical contact. You just…weren't yourself."

"And how did I explain away my strange behavior?"

"You blamed it on the stress of the Astraeus mission."

"The perfect excuse," she admitted reluctantly and then stiffened as a sudden, very unpleasant thought struck her. "Wait…you said that I didn't allow much physical contact. So we never…?" she trailed off, not even able to say the words out loud.

"_No!_ No," he repeated and tightened his arms as if he was expecting her to pull away from him. "There's no way she could have kept up her ruse if she would've tried that, and I think she knew it. As it is, she made the fatal mistake of kissing me."

The thought of Beverly kissing Jack—even using _her_ lips—made Allison fume.

"She actually did us a favor," Jack hurried on, sensing her irritation. "The minute she kissed me, I knew that something was very wrong. I can't explain it—I just _knew. _Her kiss...there was nothing there. It was blank and dark like a void. Does that make any sense?"

She nodded, humbled at the thought that Jack knew her kiss from any other woman's in the entire world.

"Add that to the fact that there was no record of your accident," he continued, ticking off his points on his fingers, "Zane's PAL system tagging you as a security threat, and the brain scan that you ran on yourself before Beverly took full control…" He shrugged. "It was just a matter of time before we put two and two together."

"You mean before _you_ put two and two together."

"I had help. I couldn't have done it without Henry and Zane."

She pushed herself up just enough to look into his eyes. "You're amazing."

"There's absolutely nothing I wouldn't have done to bring you back to me. Nothing."

Allison felt her eyes burning as fresh tears threatened. "Thank you."

She'd already thanked Jo and Zoe for their part in rescuing her, but she'd never gotten to thank Jack for being the first one to realize that something was amiss. Without him, nothing else would have fallen into place.

She owed him everything.

"Those are two words you'll never have to say to me. I'd do it all again and again and again if I had to." He lifted his head and brushed his lips across hers. "Okay?"

"Okay," she replied with a blissful smile. "As long as you know I'd do the same."

"Of that I have absolutely no doubt."

"Good."

Laying her head back against his chest, she breathed deeply, greedily inhaling his woodsy male scent. She was happy to be alive, happy to have her mind all to herself again, and ridiculously, insanely happy to be enveloped by the full force of Jack's love.

The strong, steady beat of his heart coupled with the rhythmic swaying of the rippling yellow flames lulled her with a sweet melody that no lullaby could ever hope to match. She was so utterly relaxed that she didn't realize that she'd fallen asleep until a gentle jostling pulled her from the comforting depths of slumber. When she finally managed to peel open her heavy eyelids, Jack was already standing at the top of the stairs with her wrapped securely in his arms.

"I haven't been carried to bed since I was a little girl," she joked sleepily, her eyes already starting to drift closed again.

"I'll always be here to carry you, Ally." He paused in his bedroom doorway and kissed her forehead, his warm lips lingering lovingly on her skin. "All you ever have to do is ask."

_All I have to do is ask._

As an independent woman who was used to doing things for herself, Allison wasn't in the habit of asking anyone for anything.

But for Jack, she was definitely willing to learn.

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><p><strong>AN: **I hadn't meant to thread such a dark note into this chapter, but I can't imagine that they wouldn't have had a more in-depth conversation about Allison's ordeal beyond what we saw on the show. As for Allison and Jack holo-Skyping with the kids while they're with Allison's mom... I figured if Jack's sister knows about Eureka and it's awesome tech, why not Allison's mother? She _is_ a scientist, after all. I hope you enjoyed.


	2. Day 2:  Nobody Said It Was Easy

**Day 2: Nobody Said It Was Easy**

Allison woke up in a cold sweat. Disoriented, she lay as still as stone, blinking rapidly up at the expanse of the white ceiling above, trying in vain to tame the trembling in her limbs and will her racing heart to slow.

As the remnants of the nightmare scattered and blew away like smoke on the wind, dark echoes remained, pulsing in her head like a quasar, bright and intense. Terrible feelings—the disturbing twin sensations of being helpless and afraid—lingered with a stubborn tenacity that would probably take most of the night to shake.

With an agitated flick of her wrist, she threw back the comforter and grimaced with distaste. Like a second skin, her short satin nightgown clung wetly to the fine sheen of perspiration coating nearly every inch of her body. Jack's heat at her back, so warm and inviting when she'd climbed into bed just a few short hours ago, had become unbearable.

As if he could sense her disquiet even in his sleep, his arm tightened around her waist.

"Are you okay?" His voice was a sleepy croak next to her ear.

"I'm fine." She pushed away from him and hurriedly climbed out of bed, tucking her quivering hands behind her back.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Do you need help with anything?"

"I said I'm fine, Jack." She didn't know why, but the fact that he didn't seem to believe her set her teeth on edge. When he pushed himself into a sitting position, she shook her head and held out a hand to ward him off. "You don't have to get up. I'm a big girl—I think I can manage to go to the bathroom by myself."

The words had come out more harshly than she'd intended, but she didn't take them back. Instead, she pressed her lips together and stared at him in the gloom of the darkened bedroom, daring him to contradict her—almost _wanting_ him to challenge her.

"I know," he said quietly.

"Do you? Because I'm becoming less and less sure about that."

Beyond his understandably natural desire to protect her, Jack had begun to treat her like a piece of fine china that would shatter into a million pieces at the least provocation. He'd been refusing to let her cook or clean or otherwise strain herself, insisting that S.A.R.A.H. had everything covered. She knew that he meant well, but after only two days, it was already starting to slowly drive her nuts.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed closest to her, a slight frown creasing his brow when she backed up a few steps. Just far enough that he wouldn't be able to see that she was a shaky, sweaty mess. In the darkness, she could just make out his expressive blue eyes. They were sad and hurt, yet full of such a soul deep understanding that it nearly brought her to tears.

She steeled herself, refusing to let her fear and uncertainty drown her in another sea of useless tears.

Jack's gaze was solemn as he watched her, silently measuring her. Finally, he nodded, the movement slow and heavy. It was as if the simple act of affirming her statement had physically pained him.

"That's fair," he said, his deep voice as serious as she'd ever heard it. "But I'm not going to apologize for caring too much, Ally. Not about this and not about you."

"I didn't mean…" she trailed off, her heart squeezing painfully as a wave of guilt washed over her. She opened her mouth then immediately closed it again, inexplicably uncertain of how to respond. She stood there for a moment, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, frustrated by her sudden lack of any appreciable communication skills.

"Ally?" he questioned, pushing himself to his feet.

Unable to answer him, she shook her head, turned and fled from the room.

She ran up the long, carpeted hallway and down the stairs, grateful that Jo had decided to stay with Zane for the week. The less people to witness her breakdown the better.

As the bathroom door slid shut behind her, it occurred to Allison that she wasn't quite sure what she'd been running from: the nightmare that had so effectively chased her from a sound sleep or her guilt over snapping at Jack.

There was no question that she had been trying to pick a fight with him. He'd been an easy target. Convenient. _There._

Since she wasn't able to confront the person that had violated her, she'd taken out her simmering anger and frustration on Jack. Even though she was self-aware enough to know the psychological reasons behind her actions, the knowledge didn't make her feel any less terrible. And the fact that on some level, she'd actually enjoyed lashing out at him made her feel even worse.

Hastily, she peeled off her sweat-drenched nightgown, breathing a sigh of relief as the sticky emerald material relinquished its possessive hold on her skin. Tossing it carelessly to one side, she leaned back against the nearest wall and sank onto the dark, tile floor. Heedless of the chill seeping through the lilac cotton of her underwear, she drew her legs up to her chest and propped her chin on her raised knees.

She hated to admit it, but this entire situation was killing her. It was slowly eating her alive from the inside out, and if she didn't get a handle on her emotions, she was afraid that they would consume her.

The nightmare had sent her a message…one that she didn't want to hear: that she was weak, afraid, helpless.

She'd always prided herself on her independence, strength, and willful determination. But when she'd needed them most, the same traits that had elevated her to the most powerful position in Eureka—not once, but _twice_—had failed her. In the end, nothing and no one had been able to protect her from the monster hiding under her bed.

She hadn't even been able to protect _herself._

And no one would ever know how she felt. Though she'd tried her best with Jack yesterday, it was hard to vocalize what it had been like to be locked inside her own mind, helpless to resist as Beverly had paraded her body around town like a life-sized Allison doll.

She shuddered, both from the cool air raising goose bumps on her bare skin and her own roiling thoughts.

As grateful as she was for the unwavering support from her friends, and the unconditional love that Jack so unselfishly showered upon her, she felt more lost and alone than she'd ever felt in her entire life. But she would never admit it to Jack. He would blame himself for not following his instincts sooner; the last thing she wanted was for him to feel guilty over something that he'd had no control over.

_Jack._

Like the gentle rays of the early morning sun, the mere thought of him warmed her.

She'd been horrible to him, and she needed to apologize.

Right now.

Feeling an almost desperate need to see him, to set things right, she pushed herself up, grabbed a large, fluffy blue towel from the rack and rushed out the door. Her feet had barely crossed the threshold into the hallway when she pulled up short, her hands freezing in the act of securing the loose end of the towel under her arm.

Jack was lounging against the wall across from the bathroom. His bare feet were crossed at the ankles, his arms folded across his chest, and his head—which had been resting lightly against the clear glass behind him—popped up the second the light from the bathroom splashed across his face.

"Jack," she whispered, unable to hide her astonishment. She hadn't thought that he'd come after her, not after the way she'd talked to him, but she should've known better. He'd told her on far too many occasions to count that he would always be there for her, and it was obvious that he'd meant it.

Even when she didn't deserve it.

"Hi," he said quietly, pushing himself to his full height.

"Hi," she answered, her voice almost shy as she stepped closer. "Why didn't you knock?"

"I figured you'd call me if you needed me."

"I need you."

He smiled tenderly. "I know."

_He always knows._

He held out his arms and Allison immediately melted into his warm embrace.

"I'm sorry," she said into his chest, her voice muffled against the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

"I know that to," he reassured her, pressing a kiss into her hair. "But you don't have to apologize for being human."

"I do," she insisted, nodding vigorously. "I was awful to you."

She could feel Jack sigh, his chest rising and falling as he slid his hand to the small of her back and pulled her closer. "Would it make you feel any better if I said that I forgive you?"

"Yes."

"Then I forgive you."

She closed her eyes and leaned into him.

"Are you wearing this to bed?" he joked, pressing his hand into the plush terry-cloth at her back.

"My nightgown was soaked through," she offered by way of an explanation.

"The nightmare?"

Eyebrows climbing her forehead, Allison pulled back and looked up at him. "You knew?"

"Yeah."

She touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers. "You always know…don't you?"

"Not always." His voice had turned sober, and the inner light that normally made his blue eyes sparkle like diamonds dimmed. "If I did…then…" He let the sentence trail off, but she didn't need to hear the words to know what he was thinking.

"Jack, don't," she begged. "Please don't start blaming yourself for what happened to me."

She didn't think she would be able to bear it.

"Too late."

Her heart contracted. "Jack…"

"Do you want to talk about it?" he interrupted before she had a chance to say more. He stroked his thumb across her cheekbone and bent slightly so that he could look into her eyes. "Your nightmare?"

"Not yet."

And it was obvious that he wasn't ready to share either. Sooner or later, they were both going to have to talk about their fears, but it didn't have to be tonight. Tonight she just wanted to enjoy loving him and being loved by him in return.

Nodding in understanding, Jack took a small step back and pulled off his navy t-shirt in one fluid motion. He held it out to her. "Will this do as a replacement?"

"It's perfect," she said, letting the towel drop as she gratefully lifted the shirt out of his hands.

She slipped it over her head. It was huge on her, swinging around her thighs like an oversized, shapeless dress, but she didn't care. She felt safe, untouchable—like nothing bad could ever happen to her again.

Allison smiled softly to herself as Jack took her hand and led her up the stairs. A small part of her was still afraid of the darkness, but a larger part of her—the obstinate part that loved a good challenge—was readying itself for a fight.

And with her determination and Jack by her side, she had absolutely no doubt that she was going to win.

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><p><strong>AN: **I know…I went dark again. I hadn't planned on it, but once I started writing I realized that there's no way that Allison could've escaped being violated the way she was without some scars and some issues that she had to work through. The angst will ease up—promise!—but both Allison and Jack have some things that they need to work through first.

**ETA** - The title of this chapter is from a verse in "The Scientist" by Coldplay.


	3. Day 3:  Ghosts

**Day 3: Ghosts**

Jack couldn't sleep.

The mid-afternoon nap that he was supposed to be sharing with Allison had remained frustratingly elusive. He lay on his back, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, one hand shoved beneath the cool fabric of his pillow, the other resting lightly on her slender back as she slumbered peacefully beside him.

He had no idea how long he'd been lying there, eyes wide and blinking in the oppressive silence, trying desperately to ignore the urge to indulge in any meaningful self-reflection. It could have been seconds, minutes or maybe even hours, but time had seemed to stop altogether as the emotions that he'd become so adept at burying had risen up all at once and demanded reciprocity.

Except there was nothing even remotely reciprocal about what his emotions wanted from him.

They wanted to be acknowledged while he wanted nothing more than to pretend that they didn't exist. They wanted him to unleash the pain and anger that he'd been so successful at keeping bottled up inside. They wanted to be free when all he wanted to do was keep them locked away forever.

Fear…frustration…uncertainty.

They were always there, patiently simmering beneath the surface, waiting for him to relax just long enough to creep out from their hiding place and slowly make him suffer. Arduously, mercilessly, they would force him to face his insecurities and own up to the shame of his failures. And despite what he knew would eventually be a good thing—a _healthy_ thing—there was no way that he was ready to deal with them.

Not yet.

Not when the utter helplessness of watching Allison struggle through this ordeal was so damn fresh. Or the guilt of not being there when she'd needed him most was so raw and brand new. And most importantly, most _pressing_…he was terrified of just what he might be capable of if he ever let his chaotic emotions truly have free reign.

Beverly had already stolen so much from them...from _him._ Had already nearly taken Allison away from him in the most permanent way possible once before.

Just the memory, still an open, festering wound that had yet to heal despite the months that had passed, made every muscle in his body tense with barely contained rage. And he knew right then, knew down to his deepest, darkest core, that he might not have the self-control he'd need if he ever came face to face with her again.

Because a part of him—a part that was growing larger and more vocal every day—wanted revenge. And _that_ thought, that primal, almost irresistible instinct, scared the absolute hell out of him.

So he buried those feelings way down deep. Locked them up tight where they'd never see the light of day and he'd never have to worry about making a decision that he knew he would eventually live to regret.

Mentally giving himself a pat the back for having the foresight to leave the lights turned up to a warm, intimate glow, Jack turned on his side, his eyes searching out Allison's face. He was surprised to see that her eyes were open, watching him, dark and heavy-lidded and assessing. She was lying on her stomach, her head resting on her folded arms, the light blanket that he'd tossed over her earlier kicked down around her amazing legs.

His first instinct was to pull the dark-gray throw back up over her lush, exquisite curves, but selfishly, he decided to leave it right where it was.

"Hey, you," she said. Her voice was low, still groggy with sleep.

"Hey." He ran a tender hand up her bare arm and lightly fiddled with the cotton edge of her navy-blue sleeve. "Did I wake you?"

She shook her head, a small languid smile tugging at the corners of her full lips. "No."

Tucking her sleep-tousled hair behind her ear, he let his eyes roam across her lovely face appraisingly. She looked a million times more rested than she had when she'd lain down just a few hours ago, and he couldn't resist giving himself more silent kudos for talking her into doing this in the first place.

Although she couldn't have been more beautiful if she'd tried, Allison had looked so wan and drawn and exhausted today, that he'd felt compelled to coax her into taking a short nap. At first, she'd scoffed at the notion, joking that she was way past the age of needing a naptime. But she'd soon given in, unable to keep denying how tired she was after yawning her way through their entire Café Diem-catered lunch.

For his part, Jack hadn't planned on joining her. But after watching her strip down to her black lace underwear, slip into the same t-shirt that she'd worn to bed the night before—_his_ t-shirt, he thought with a proprietary inward smile—and stretch out on what he'd come to think of as her side of the bed…well…ultimately he hadn't been able to resist the temptation.

And even though he hadn't slept a wink, he found that he didn't mind at all. After last night's nightmare debacle, watching her finally get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep had been well worth it.

"Any bad dreams?" he asked quietly, absently tracing the shell of her ear with his fingertips.

"None, thankfully." She paused then added thoughtfully, "Or if I did, I don't remember."

A large grin creased his face as relief poured through him.

He'd take that.

As quickly as it had appeared, the smile on Allison's face melted away. She rolled onto her side to face him, mirroring his posture. Peering into his eyes intently, as if she was searching his very soul, she reached out and cupped his cheek in her palm.

"Jack…is something wrong?"

Caught off guard by her question, he hesitated for a moment longer than he would've liked then covered her hand with his. "Nothing's wrong, Allie." He gave her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "Nothing at all."

She slid her hand from beneath his and let it drop like a dead weight onto the rich, dark comforter between them. "Why don't I believe you?"

"I don't know…why _don't_ you believe me?" Jack intentionally injected a playful note into his voice in the hopes of deflecting her curiosity, but she didn't bite.

Instead she reached up and slowly ran her index finger over the blond slash of his right eyebrow before continuing her journey down over his closed lid. Her touch was soft and calm and so soothing that he had to fight the impulse to surrender to its seductive power.

"Because I _know_ you, that's why," she told him. "And there's something in your eyes…something hiding just below the surface that you don't want me to see."

Despite being slightly taken aback by the unexpected turn in the conversation, he was amazed by this incredible woman yet again. He'd called himself watching over _her._ Protecting _her._ But somehow, Allison had known—just like she always did—that he was the one that needed a guardian angel.

She _knew_ him. Better than any woman ever had in his entire life. And if he planned on building a future with her—and boy did he—he'd have to come to terms with the fact that hiding anything from her would be nearly impossible. Not that he'd ever purposely set out to deceive her. But his natural instinct to protect those that he loved most in this world couldn't be contained, and there were going to be times—like now for instance—when telling a little white lie would be the right thing to do.

The _necessary_ thing to do.

"Allie, I'm fine. There's nothing to worry about—promise."

Her hand fell away from his face once more.

"Funny," she said although she neither looked nor sounded the least bit amused. "When _I_ say that, you get this…look."

"What look?"

"The one that says that I'd just force-fed you a huge crock of bull."

"Well…you _were_ brain-jacked." Jack knew that he'd said the wrong thing the second the words had left his mouth.

The shadow of a frown flitted across her face, making her sculpted eyebrows dip and the corners of her mouth turn downward ominously. She propped herself on her forearm and leaned back a little. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," he began hastily, now in full damage-control mode, "that after what you've been through, your feelings have got to be a bit more complicated than just…_fine._"

"And yours aren't?"

"My feelings don't count."

"What?"

"I wasn't the one who was kidnapped and vio—" Mouth twisting like he'd just been punched in the stomach, he stopped, sat up, and ran an agitated hand across the back of his head. "I wasn't the one that Beverly harmed..._you_ were. And in my mind, that's the only thing that matters here."

"How could you even think such a thing?" She sounded thoroughly bewildered. As if she couldn't quite make sense of what she'd just heard.

"Because it's true."

Pushing herself up into a kneeling position, Allison shook her head in wide-eyed disbelief. "I swear, Jack Carter…you have got to be the most stubborn man that I've ever…" Cutting herself off with a heavy sigh, she moved closer and placed a small hand on the back of his neck. "Honey," she said in a hushed voice, "look at me."

After a moment of mulish resistance, he finally turned to face her and instantly got lost in her eyes. The rising ire that had begun to blossom only seconds ago had faded into a marked sadness that made him feel like a world-class jerk.

"Allie…" he began, but she shook her head again and put a silencing finger to his lips.

"Jack, every day, you ask me if I'm okay...if I want to talk about what happened to me. And I know that it's probably unfair of me to expect you to open up when I haven't been very forthcoming myself, but…at least you know what my issues are." She took a moment to gently rake her fingers through the short hairs at his nape before continuing solemnly, "I can only guess at yours."

He nodded, but didn't say anything more and something in her eyes shifted and withdrew. It was barely there, just the subtlest of flickers, but he'd become so attuned to the slightest changes in her mood, that it was as obvious to him as a neon sign.

And right then, even though she nodded in understanding and kissed his lips and graced him with one of her beautiful smiles, Jack could feel the earth tremble beneath his feet as a fissure—small but significant—opened up between them.

He only hoped that in the end it didn't swallow them whole.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I have no excuse for the long delay between chapters except a massive case of writer's block. I hope its run its course because I really don't want to go through that again. Thanks to everyone who favorited, reviewed and is following this story. I know it didn't seem like it, but they really did help keep me motivated.

Originally, this chapter wasn't supposed to be told from Jack's point of view, but when the words finally started flowing again, this is what came out. Although the show never really delved into his state of mind after Beverly's scheme had been thwarted, knowing him, I can only imagine that he felt a whole lot of anger toward Beverly for what she did to Allison and plenty of (unwarranted) guilt for not being able to protect the woman that he loves. But I also think that he would call himself protecting her by not "burdening" her with his issues despite the fact that he thinks she should talk about hers. He's adorable, but maddening that way. Gotta love him.

**ETA:** In keeping with canon, from now on, I'll now be spelling Allison's nickname as "Allie" instead of "Ally" (as shown on the personalized tool belt that Jack gave her on _The Honeymooners_).


	4. Day 4: Dichotomy

**Day 4: Dichotomy**

Allison had never been foolish enough to think that her world would immediately right itself once she'd had her mind all to herself again. But she'd also never counted on her journey back to normalcy being so damn _hard._ That type of thinking had been foolish and uncharacteristically shortsighted she could now admit. But that moment of clarity, dragged kicking and screaming from the dark recesses of her psyche like a recalcitrant child, made her feel worse, not better.

Because nothing that she was doing seemed to be working. Despite the mental pep talks that had kept her awake long after she'd climbed into Jack's big, safe bed at night, the mostly unsuccessful attempts to stay busy during the day and the unflinching support of those who loved her, she felt as if she was on a merry-go-round. Like she was going around and around in endless circles, not able to stop long enough to get her bearings or to even take a proper breath.

As determined as she was to beat Beverly at her own game, deep down, she was terrified that in the end _she_ would wind up the loser. And the thought of losing anything to that woman ever again made her stomach churn.

That was one of the things that she was having the most trouble reconciling. It was the thing that snuck into her dreams at night. The singular issue that made it hard for her to open up to Jack despite his concerted, well-meaning effort to get her to do so.

The threads of her life—as complicated and messy as they could sometimes be—were undoubtedly her own. But she'd learned the hard way that her control over it was tenuous at best. And completely non-existent at worse.

"Coming to bed?"

The deep voice broke into her troubled thoughts easily, as warm and comforting as the low flames dancing in the fireplace. She pulled her eyes away from their hypnotic, yellow-orange glow and shifted her gaze to the stairway. Dressed for bed in a pair of dark-blue pajama bottoms and a light-gray t-shirt, Jack was standing on the lower landing gazing down at her steadily. His blue gaze held equal measures of expectation and caution, and Allison couldn't blame him for his reticence.

After yesterday afternoon, after he'd so blithely brushed off her attempt to provide him with the same comfort and solace that he'd been so unselfishly bestowing on her these past few days, things between them had been a little…tense. The atmosphere hovering over last night's dinner and this morning's breakfast had been uncomfortably dark and brooding.

They had spent the long day carefully tiptoeing around each other, their normally easy camaraderie buried under stilted conversations about nothing even remotely important. Conversations that had been polite almost to the point of absurdity.

For tonight's evening meal they'd tried something different, however, spreading their dinner across the thick glass coffee table and allowing a baseball-themed movie to fill the void with the welcome babble of canned, digital voices.

That had been well over two hours ago.

And now, after disappearing upstairs shortly after they'd restored the living room to its usual pristine condition, here he was, trying to coax her to bed. His timing was impeccable, she thought with a small, wry smile, readjusting and tucking the soft charcoal-gray throw more snugly around her bent legs. He'd come looking for her just when she'd seriously begun to consider spending a solitary night on the large white couch.

"Not yet," Allison finally replied, rather proud of her ability to force a lightness into her tone that she definitely didn't feel.

"Do you have any idea when you'll be coming up?"

Although his face remained impressively neutral, she could hear the displeasure in his voice, see his discontent in action as he leaned against the railing in front of him and gripped it tightly. Her eyes shifted downward, not missing the way that the blood was quickly abandoning his long, lean fingers, leaving them as pale as moonlight as he squeezed the blond wood a little bit harder as he waited.

"No," she answered honestly with a small shake of her head, although in this case, she doubted she'd get any points for it. He didn't want honesty right now—he wanted to be placated. Instead, she picked up the thick paperback book that was propped open on the cushion beside her and held it aloft. "I'm going to stay up and read for a while."

Almost immediately, all pretenses of relaxed casualness disappeared from Jack's features as his face clearly broadcast his dissatisfaction. A deep groove—the one that only appeared when he was trying hard not to frown—had forged an unforgiving path between his eyebrows and his lips had flattened into a grim line.

His eyes jumped from her face to the paperback, slowly skimming the silvery-gray cover and gently broken spine before returning to her face. His knowing gaze lingered for a moment before flicking to the fireplace and then back again. "Read, huh?"

She felt her body tense as the realization that he had caught her daydreaming—though such a romantic-sounding word hardly described where her thoughts had just taken her—poured over her like a cold, unforgiving rain. But, really, she shouldn't have been surprised.

Jack rarely missed anything.

"Yes, Jack," she replied, letting a hint of the irritation that had begun to unfurl inside her sneak through. "Read."

He placed his hands on his hips—another sure sign of his own growing agitation. "Allie, you look exhausted." He paused then sighed heavily and continued, "You need to get some sleep. Some _real_ sleep."

"And I will," she insisted, looking away. "In a little while."

She knew he was right, of course. Knew that her exhaustion was making her irritable and irrational and exceptionally hard to live with, but she wouldn't yield. She _couldn't_ yield. There wasn't much she'd been able to control lately—her mind, her work, her dreams—but this…this was one of the few things that she had complete autonomy over and she clung to that scant bit of power with selfish determination.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him standing there, uncertain yet thoughtful as he processed an answer that she knew he'd fully expected, but was in no way happy with. Hands still resting on his trim hips, it was apparent that he was torn between going on to bed without her or staying and pushing his luck just a little further.

Allison wanted him to head off to bed, to leave her alone with her thoughts, but she knew this man. Probably better than she knew herself; and there was no way that he would leave her. Not when it was so obvious that she was suffering.

At that particular moment, it was a quality that she both loved and hated.

Finally, Jack shook his head, the gesture heavy with exasperation at her stubbornness. Stepping down into the living room, he crossed to the sofa on bare, silent feet.

"Allie," he said softly as he sank down onto the cushion next to her, angling his body to face her. His hand, tender and reassuring, lit on the gentle curve of her right knee. "Are you afraid that you'll have another nightmare?"

Chest tightening slightly at the mere mention of her recurring bad dreams, she almost laughed aloud at the question. Was she afraid? Hell, she was afraid of a lot of things lately, but she wasn't about to admit it. She wasn't about to give the dreaded fear even more power than it already had over her by letting it out of its carefully constructed cage.

At least not tonight.

She was being irrational—slightly paranoid even—but for right now, in this moment, at this time, it was the only way she knew how to cope.

Sighing quietly, she set the book back beside her thigh, amazed that the lightweight object could suddenly feel so heavy and cumbersome.

Absently, she ran her fingers over the smooth, glossy surface, the repetitive motion strangely calming as she gave Jack her eyes once more. "Jack, I know you mean well. But I really need to you to give me some space on this...okay?"

The flicker of hurt that flitted across his face was unmistakable, but it was gone so quickly that Allison would have missed it if she hadn't been studying him so intently.

"Allie…"

"I'm fine, Jack," she interrupted before he could say anything more, involuntarily pulling back and wedging herself further into the corner of the sofa. She watched dispassionately as his hand slipped off of her knee and fell to the cushion between them.

In a cruel twist of irony that didn't escape her notice despite her frustration, she mentally cringed the second the words left her mouth. Jack had said that very thing to her just yesterday and she'd been left feeling cold and unsatisfied. But when presented with the opportunity to use them herself, she'd jumped at the chance without a second thought.

Or an ounce of guilt.

She'd lost count of how many times she'd said those words over the past few days—to Jack, to Kevin, her friends, Senator Wen. They'd become so automatic that they were spoken without thought or feeling or any real meaning.

Her original intent had simply been to ease everyone else's anxiety. To make them feel less uncomfortable and guilt-ridden about what had been done to her. But when she'd learned the amazing scope of their power, she'd wholeheartedly and selfishly embraced them. They'd become a shield against the rest of the world. Protecting her against pity, guarding against unwanted questions, heading off well-meaning platitudes before they could even be born.

But she'd found that they were slowly losing their clout. They were becoming weak and benign, sounding hollow even to her own ears. And judging by the continued souring of his expression, it was an assessment that Jack was in wholehearted agreement.

"You're fine," he repeated with a nod, his eyes aimed at a spot somewhere over her left shoulder. His voice was low, almost as if he was talking to himself; and when his eyes returned to hers again, they were as serious as she'd ever seen them. "To be honest, Allie, I'm not so sure about that."

"Jack—"

It was his turn to cut her off. "When I came downstairs just now, you were in another world. Just…staring into the fire, not blinking or moving. You didn't even hear me call your name." He widened his eyes in emphasis. "You were just…_gone._ In a place where I couldn't reach you."

Not exactly sure what to say, Allison didn't immediately answer him. She knew that Jack meant well, that what she was currently going through was hurting him nearly as much as it was hurting her.

But the knowledge didn't make it any easier.

"Jack," she said quietly, speaking loudly enough for him to hear her, but only just. "What are you afraid of?"

"Excuse me?" His confusion was palpable. It was clear that her question had caught him off guard.

_Good._

She hadn't intended to ask it, but now that she'd put it out there, it made all the sense in the world. It was one of the greatest mysteries in the universe to her, something that she'd always wanted to know, but had never worked up the nerve ask him.

"We're all afraid of something," she said, eyeing him carefully. "Just what is it that scares _you?_"

He hesitated for a beat before responding with a measured, "Plenty of things, I guess."

"Things like…?" she pressed when he didn't elaborate.

Jack shifted uncomfortably. "Well…I'm afraid that one day, some mad scientist at G.D. will finally figure out a way to blow Eureka off the map."

A small flame of irritation, hotter and brighter than any she'd felt so far tonight, flared up inside her. While she knew that the town's ultimate destruction was definitely one of Jack's long-standing worries—one that he never failed to remind her of every time some Global experiment went horribly awry—that wasn't the kind of fear she was talking about.

And he knew it.

Shaking her head, she chuffed out a humorless laugh. "It's not that easy, is it? To talk about your fears?" Holding his gaze, she leaned forward a little. "Your _true_ fears? Your weaknesses? Your failures?"

His answer, this time, was immediate. "No…it's not."

"So then try to imagine what it's like when everyone around you is trying to get you to open up. Trying to get you to talk about something that you just want to stick in a box and shove into the farthest, darkest corner of your mind."

"I don't have to imagine; I've been there and it sucks."

"And yet, that's exactly what you're asking me to do."

Jack sighed. The sound was tired, but resolute. "Only because I know from personal experience that pretending that nothing is wrong is the worst possible thing you can do." He reached out hesitantly, his fingers lightly grazing the skin on the back of her hand where it rested in a small, balled fist on her knees. When she didn't pull away, he stroked his thumb gently over the smooth skin between her knuckles and continued, "And I know it won't be easy, but that's what I'm here for." His small smile was as tentative as his touch. "And I've always been told that I'm a great listener."

"But not so great at sharing…right?" Allison slid her hand from beneath his, bracing herself against the guilt that was blazing a hot trail from her head to her heart. As much as she hated it, her frustration—with Beverly, with Jack, with Senator Wen, hell…with _herself_—was winning out, and she couldn't seem to stop.

"That's not true," he protested, but his words lacked conviction. They both knew that he wasn't being completely honest.

With her or with himself.

"Isn't it?"

When he remained silent, she shook her head and closed her eyes. She wasn't really surprised. As long as she'd known him, Jack had never been crazy about discussing his innermost feelings. It had taken four long years for him to finally admit how he felt about her, after all. And to this day, he'd never really let her see the depths of his grief after her very real—and nearly permanent—brush with death almost a year ago.

Oddly enough, his emotions were usually always so plain to see, his animated eyes, easy-to-read features and evocative body language giving him away every time. But he'd always been a pro at hiding his pain and anger, as if letting his two most base emotions see the light of day would somehow weaken him.

Allison knew that she hadn't been the most forthcoming person on the planet either over the years—hell, it had taken the hallucination of her best friend and _his_ ex to admit that she was afraid of losing him—but she was well aware of her shortcomings and didn't hold any delusions on that front.

Jack, however, seemed to revel in his obvious state of denial.

"Allie," he finally said, his low voice sounding impossibly loud in the heavy quiet of the room, "I just want to help."

"I know, Jack, and I appreciate it. I really do." Her eyes slid over his face, silently pleading for him to understand. "But you can't fix this for me. Not this time."

He pressed his lips together tightly, but thankfully, instead of arguing further, he gave her a slow nod. "Okay," he agreed reluctantly, "but…I can't promise that I won't try again tomorrow."

"I know."

And she did.

Because he wouldn't be the man that she'd fallen in love with otherwise.

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><p><strong>AN: **This story is slow in coming, but I'm determined to finish it. Once again, thanks for all the reviews, favs and follows. And a special thanks to everyone for your saintly patience.

And yes, I have shortened my name. Rolls off the tongue a bit more easily, I think.


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